Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The laboratory had been many things to Jayce over the years—a second home, a sanctuary, the birthplace of Hextech. It had always felt warm, alive, and welcoming. But now, all life and warmth had been stripped away. The space, once brimming with energy and ambition, was nothing more than a hollow husk. He realised, perhaps too late, that Viktor had been the heart of this place, the quiet forge that breathed life into their shared world. Without him, the lab felt sterile and lifeless.

And yet, Jayce kept coming back.

It was the only place he still felt close to Viktor. He could almost convince himself the man had just stepped out, that at any moment he would find him hunched over his desk, completely absorbed in his work. Some days, Jayce swore he could still catch traces of his scent lingering in the air. A sharp, clean freshness like ozone, followed by a subtle warmth, a touch of musky sweetness that lingered faintly, like the memory of rain on warm stone.

He clung to that, to the illusion, because the truth was unbearable.

More than anything, he waited. Waited for word, for news, for the smallest indication that Viktor was alive and breathing. Days bled into nights without change. The silence was oppressive, suffocating. No one would tell him anything, no updates on Viktor’s condition, no hint of when—or if—he might be released. The thought of Viktor being so close and yet so far tortured Jayce in the long hours of his absence, and a brewing hostility grew toward those who kept them apart. He stayed at the lab as if his presence alone could summon the answers he so desperately sought.

An unexpected knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. He jerked upright, swiveling in his chair just in time to see Mel Medarda slipping through the door.

“Mel,” he exhaled, scrambling to his feet.

The chair clattered to the ground behind him, but he barely noticed. In just a few long strides, he was in front of her, tense with urgency. He opened his mouth to speak, but she raised a hand, stopping him before he could utter a word.

“Before you ask—no, you can’t see him. And no, I can’t authorise it.” Mel’s voice was quiet but firm, and unmistakably laced with exhaustion.

Jayce deflated, the fight bleeding from his shoulders. It wasn’t the answer he had been hoping for.

“There has to be another way.” He searched her face, desperate to find a solution there.

Mel sighed, her expression softening. “I was outvoted on this one, Jayce. Under no circumstances is Viktor allowed visitors. Not even by members of the council.”

Jayce raised a hand and pinched the bridge of his nose between his eyes in an attempt to stave off the dull ache building in his skull. It had been weeks. Weeks since he and Viktor had miraculously woken atop the Hexgate, alive and whole. Weeks since he had last seen Viktor. At this rate, he didn’t know when he was likely to see him again.

His hand fell away, his fingers curling into a fist at his side. He felt utterly helpless.

“Thank you for trying,” he murmured, his voice hollow. “I appreciate it.”

Turning away from Mel, he made his way back to the desk. 

“Can I get you something? I’ve only got coffee.”

“No, thank you.”

Mel watched him, silent but astute. He knew she could see it—the tension, the restless energy coiled beneath his skin, the way his hands trembled faintly before he forced them still.

As she stood by, Jayce couldn’t help but notice her scent—the warm, soothing floral aroma. It was calming, almost comforting, and despite the chaos and fatigue weighing on his mind, he felt his body relax, if only slightly. Mel was usually in full control of her omega pheromones, wielding them with precision when it suited her, as she had once admitted to him. But now, with exhaustion evident in the slump of her shoulders, he wondered if her hold had slipped, just for a moment.

“There have been… developments,” she said after a moment.

Jayce straightened, his brow knitting together.

Mel hesitated before continuing. “While I haven’t been able to get permission for you to see Viktor, the council has been… receptive to your plea for his life.”

“What?” Jayce’s voice came out sharp, almost breathless. “Why didn’t you lead with that?”

“I wasn’t quite sure how to tell you,” Mel explained. “It wasn’t until this evening that the council reached a decision.”

“Alright, let’s hear it,” he said. Hope flickered in his chest, fragile and desperate.

Mel’s expression shifted—subtle, but undeniable. Her mask, usually so practiced, cracked just enough for Jayce to see something waver beneath it. Discomfort. Disgust.

“Jayce, let me preface this by saying I don’t condone this decision. It’s archaic and goes against everything Piltover stands for.” She inhaled, steadying herself. Jayce barely dared to breathe. “The council is willing to dismiss all charges against Viktor and allow him to go free—but only under the condition that you claim him.”

Silence stretched between them as Jayce processed the news.

“But…” Jayce paused, confused. “But Viktor is an alpha.”

“Yes.”

“They want me—an alpha—to claim another alpha?”

“Yes.”

He stared at her, mind reeling. “How is that even possible?”

Jayce had never heard of such a thing. It defied everything he knew about alphas, about secondary biology, about the way the world worked. Piltover prided itself on progress, far removed from the rigid traditions of places like Noxus. Secondary gender norms had never been strictly enforced here. He had even heard of omegas pairing together, life partners, despite being incapable of traditional mating.

“It’s a barbaric act, Jayce. An alpha is repeatedly, and usually forcibly, mounted and claimed—over and over—until their body suppresses its alpha genes,” she explained, her revulsion barely kept at bay. “The combination of physical and psychological stressors alters their biology until they essentially become an omega. They’ll never be capable of conception, but in every other way, they will become… compliant. Forced to obey their alpha.” 

Jayce blanched. A cold, sick feeling churned in his stomach.

“Do they want me to control Viktor?” Jayce asked, piecing together the council’s intent. "So there is no repeat of what happened?”

“Essentially.”

“And what makes them think I’ll agree to this?”

Mel stared at him hard, as if the answer were obvious.

“Because either you do… or Viktor dies.”

Jayce turned from Mel, his breath coming in short, sharp pants. His mind raced, an electrical storm of firing synapses as he tried to process the news and all the while, formulate a plan. There had to be a way around this—a way to agree to the council’s demands without actually doing what they asked. If he played along, if he made them believe he was agreeable to their demands, then maybe, just maybe, he could get Viktor out before it was too late.

His stomach twisted at the thought. The idea of claiming Viktor—of truly, irrevocably making him his—burrowed deep inside him like a parasite. It was the alpha in him, he tried to reason, a primal hunger clawing at his resolve. He tried to bury it and remind himself that this was about saving Viktor, not satisfying his own base desires.

But the thought lingered.

A flicker of heat. The scent of him. The shape of his mouth when he spoke, when he breathed his name—

Jayce clenched his jaw, disgusted with himself. This wasn’t about what he wanted. It never had been, he tried to tell himself.  

Lost in his thoughts, it was the soft draw of air as Mel prepared to speak that Jayce remembered he wasn’t alone.

“There’s more,” Mel said.

Jayce let out a bitter laugh. “Of course there is.”

She hesitated. “The council will require proof that you’ve consummated the act before they let Viktor go.”

Jayce turned back to her, eyes narrowed. “Proof?”

Mel nodded. “They know you, Jayce. They know you’ll try to run. That you’ll try to get Viktor out before you—” She stopped short, swallowing her disgust. “Before you do what they ask.”

Jayce’s hands trembled. “And what do they expect? That Viktor presents his neck to them, lets them see my mark on his skin like branded livestock?”

The awful telling silence that followed made Jayce’s stomach drop. 

His senses sharpened, narrowing in on her hesitation. He could hear the faint hitch in her breath, see the way her fingers fidgeted at her sides, the way her scent–once warm and soothing–had turned sour. She was.. afraid. Or disturbed. Or both.

There’s more, he realised. Something worse.

When she finally spoke, her voice wavered. “They want it to happen before the council. A public mating ritual.”

Jayce recoiled. “They’re—they’re insane!”

Mel’s lips pressed into a tight line.

His whole body vibrated with rage. “Isn’t forcing me to claim him enough? Now they want me to do it in front of them? Like we’re nothing more than—than animals?” His voice cracked, raw with disbelief. “Viktor will never agree to this.”

Jayce raked his fingers through his hair, gripping the strands as if the pain might anchor him. His pulse thundered in his skull, each beat a hammer striking against the side of his head, fraying his composure.

His eyes snapped to Mel, his fury seeking an outlet.

"How could you let this happen?" he spat, his voice sharp with betrayal. "You should have fought harder. You're on the council, Mel—you could have stopped this."

Mel’s gaze darkened, something flickering behind her eyes—hurt, disappointment—but when she spoke, her voice was unyielding, forged in Noxian steel.

"Let me remind you—it was you who stormed out, who abandoned your seat on the council. And now you have the audacity to stand here and demand that I fix what you threw away."

Jayce gritted his teeth.

“You think this is what I wanted?” She gestured at him. “I don’t agree with this, Jayce. I never did. But I tried to guide the council’s decision as best I could and with you in mind.”

Jayce took a threatening step forward. “And this is what you think I would have wanted?”

Mel held her ground. “I made a choice, but Janna forbid I don’t despise myself for it.”

Then, suddenly, the fight seemed to evaporate from Mel in an instant. Her eyes fell to the floor before Jayce, seemingly lost, tired, conflicted.

“I have condemned that man,” Mel said quietly, as if the words were meant for herself alone. “How do I know that?” She met his gaze again, her eyes sad and pitiful. “Because whenever there has been a question between life and death, I’ve seen the extreme lengths you’ll go to for love, Jayce.”

Her words carried a truth Jayce had long accepted but never spoken aloud. He would —had—done anything for Viktor. And if it came to it, he would again. Without hesitation. Without regret. Because there was no alternative. None that he would accept.

She was right about him.

And that terrified Jayce.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last, the words thick with regret.

It wasn’t fair to take his anger out on Mel. She was his only ally—perhaps his only friend now. Not that he was without them, but with Caitlyn bed-bound and recovering, and Vi unwilling to leave her side, Mel had been the one constant he could rely on. And for that, he was grateful.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

“I know,” she said, gracious as ever.

Jayce exhaled long and hard. He couldn't help but wonder when, exactly, Mel had figured him out. Was it back when he refused to leave Viktor’s side when the arcane had cocooned him in its grasp? Or had she known long before, during those long years of their partnership? He wasn’t prepared to ask. He feared that he'd navigated their ‘partnership’ in denial, convinced it had been something it wasn’t.

It didn’t matter.

What mattered was that she had helped him, gone against her own morals to do so. And there was nothing he could do to repay her for that.

“When is this…” He hesitated, swallowing thickly. “When is it supposed to happen?”

“Three days from tomorrow,” Mel replied.

“Three days,” Jayce echoed.

And he already knew—those three days would stretch into an eternity. But at the end of it, he would have Viktor again.

Chapter Text

The Grand Council Chamber had once filled Jayce with reverence and respect. Here, beneath the vaulted ceiling and sunlit glass, Piltover’s elite gathered to decide the fate of the city—its laws, its people, its future. To him, it had been a sanctum of reason, the pinnacle of order and progress. Now, standing before its chosen council members, he felt something else entirely. 

The light spilling through the high windows was cold and sterile, making the room feel more like a dissecting table rather than a hall of governance. And behind the council table yawned a jagged wound, the stone wall torn apart by the blast that had shaken the city and Jayce weeks before. The ruin remained unrepaired, a harsh reminder of just how fragile their dominion truly was. 

Jayce stood in the centre of the chamber, exposed beneath the weight of too many eyes. Anxiety gnawed at him, each breath sharp and shallow, every second stretched taut with dread. He longed for Viktor’s face, some anchor amid the turmoil. The silence pressed down on him, broken only by the scratch of quill or the shifting of clothes. The councilor’s gazes pierced him—some with pity, others with open but silent accusation—and he felt the truth of it: he no longer belonged here, was no longer welcomed here.

One of the council members cleared their throat. 

“This session is now in order,” they declared. “Before we proceed, let it be noted that Councilor Medarda has recused herself, citing a conflict of interest.” 

Jayce’s eyes lingered on the empty seat at the dais. Mel had told him in private that she would not take her place among the council, that she would not lend her judgment to what was to come. She hadn’t condemned him aloud, but the look she’d given him had been enough. Something between them had splintered, and no words could mend it. 

He stood alone now. No friends. No allies. No comforting words to steady him as the full weight of the council, and of what he was about to do, bore down like a guillotine above his neck.

“Bring forth the accused.”

The large council doors opened, and Jayce’s heart leapt at the sound. He turned and watched as five figures entered the grand chamber. Four Enforcers lead a man bound in chains between them, each link tethered to a leather collar around the fifth figure's neck.

Viktor. 

Jayce stared, caught between relief and fury at the sight of him. Viktor limped slowly, barefoot and unaided by a cane. His clothes hung several sizes too large, swallowing his slim frame. His head remained bowed, hair hanging like a curtain to shield his face. Jayce willed him to look up and find him.

Only when Viktor reached the centre of the room did he finally lift his head. Recognition flashed across his face—shock, fleeting and unguarded.

“Jayce?” His voice cracked, raw from disuse.

“Viktor.” 

Jayce moved instinctively toward him, but the nearest Enforcer stepped in his path, squaring their shoulders in silent warning.

“Mr. Talis, maintain your distance from the accused,” a Councilor warned.

His jaw tightened, but he forced himself still, even as every atom of his being screamed to close the distance. It did not stop his senses from reaching for Viktor in other ways, and that’s when he caught it—Viktor’s scent. Once familiar and grounding, it was now threaded with something else: an undercurrent of grief and despair, frayed at the edges like something worn too thin. It unsettled Jayce in a way no words could.

“Viktor of Zaun,” Councilor Shoola announced, “you have been brought before this Council to answer for the crimes you have committed against Piltover and her people. We have deliberated long and hard on what is to become of you.”

Viktor looked up, meeting the councilor’s eyes unflinching and said calmly, “I am prepared to accept whatever outcome of this trial.”

“Trial?” Shoola echoed. “This is no trial. This is a sentencing.”

Viktor blinked, the weight of her words sinking in. 

“I see.”

Jayce knew Viktor assumed the worst. How could he not? Why else would the council abandon due process and move straight to a verdict? He wanted to tell Viktor it wasn’t what he thought. To reassure him. The urge clawed at his chest, fierce and suffocating. He needed to hold Viktor, to feel the weight and warmth of him again. Needed him like air.

“And what is the council’s decision?” Viktor asked.

The council members exchanged glances, one last, wordless confirmation that they all stood firm, their vote unanimous. 

“It is the decision of this Council,” Shoola said, “to relinquish you into the custody of former Councilor Talis—”

Viktor’s head snapped toward Jayce, eyes wide with disbelief.

“—on the condition that he successfully mates with you.”

“What?” Viktor choked.

Jayce stepped forward again, unable to restrain himself any longer. “Viktor, you have to understand—there was no other way—”

“Silence, Mr. Talis!” another councilor snapped. “Must you be reminded again? Any interruption will be viewed as an interference in this Council’s proceedings.”

Jayce bit down the rest of his words and stepped back, hands clenched at his sides. He couldn’t risk jeopardising the only chance Viktor had left.

Viktor turned to the council, voice faltering. “But... I’m an alpha.”

“We’re well aware of your secondary gender,” Shoola replied.

“Then—you can’t mean—”

“Our decision is final.” Her tone brooked no argument. “Either Mr. Talis adheres to our condition, or you are sentenced to death. Your fate now rests with him.”

“But what if I choose death?” Viktor’s voice broke slightly. “Would that not be preferable?”

“Viktor!” Jayce hissed, horrified that he would voice such a suggestion. 

“As desirable as that may be for some,” Shoola said evenly, ignoring Jayce's outburst, “this Council has assented to the pleas of Councilor Medarda and former Councilor Talis, both of whom petitioned for your life to be spared.” 

Viktor stood frozen, his expression unreadable. But Jayce caught it, the faint narrowing of his eyes, the twitch of his fingers against the restraints, the way his breath slowed. Behind that stillness, he knew Viktor’s mind was racing, weighing possibilities and calculating risks. And Jayce feared what desperate recourse he might yet devise, even against such impossible odds.

A low, mirthless chuckle scraped the air like rusted metal. 

“You’re too kind. Truly,” Viktor said. “Letting me live after everything I’ve done. Or have you forgotten the bodies? I haven’t. I see them every time I close my eyes—every man, woman, and child. Those burned and broken in the crossfire... and the nameless faces I turned into puppets.”

Jayce’s breath caught. There was no defiance in Viktor’s voice, no fire—only a bleak, corrosive self-contempt. And yet, something shifted, barely perceptible, but there. The tilt of Viktor’s head, the way his words grew harsher. It wasn’t just a confession. It felt… deliberate.

Viktor’s gaze swept across the councilors in their fine silks, their pearl buttons and gold-plated cuffs. Their expressions were composed, but Jayce saw the tension building in their eyes, in the corner of their mouths. Their unease and anger. 

Viktor’s smile was thin, all sharp edges and hollow mockery.

“You like to think yourselves righteous and wise, but I remember how you cowered. How powerless you were in the face of conflict. You couldn’t stop Zaun’s rebellion. You couldn’t stop Ambessa Medarda. And you couldn’t stop me.”

“Viktor—” Jayce said in quiet warning.

But Viktor ignored him completely, eyes locked with his audience.

“You should be ashamed,” he spat. “You let me reduce your city to ash, and now you shackle me to your golden boy like a rabid dog.”

“That’s enough!” one of the councilors roared.

“If you sought true justice,” Viktor continued, his voice dropping to a dangerous hiss, “you’d put me down.” He leaned forward slightly, sneering. “But you won’t, will you? Because the people elected to protect Piltover have again proven themselves too weak.”

“Silence!”

The command was swiftly enacted when an Enforcer drove the blunt end of their baton into Viktor’s stomach. The force knocked the breath from his lungs, and he buckled with a rasped cry before collapsing to his knees.

Jayce saw red.

He lunged forward, his fist connecting with a sickening crack against the officer’s jaw. The man went sprawling across the ground, mask askew, and the chamber erupted into chaos. The councilors leapt to their feet, hurling furious words, as the other Enforcer’s swarmed Jayce. It took more than one to drag him down and restrain him.

“Mr. Talis!” Shoola barked. “Stand down!”

Jayce panted through bared teeth, each breath dragging out like a snarl. But he willed himself to surrender, though he wanted nothing more than to rend retribution on Viktor’s behalf. He could take them all… maybe. He had dealt with worse. He could haul Viktor over his shoulder and run. But run where? Piltover itself would rise against him. Too many knew his face, too many eyes would mark Viktor for who he was. Even if they made it beyond the Council building, the city would hunt them.

The bitter truth seared hotter than his rage: fighting here would only doom Viktor further. To resist was to feed the Council’s narrative, to hand them reason to tighten the chains already cutting into Viktor’s neck. So he stilled, even as he trembled with the urge to tear free. The Enforcer’s wrenched him back, dragging him across the forum, and Jayce’s gaze held Viktor’s curled frame, as if distance alone might snap the delicate tether between them. 

“You seem to show all but gratitude for this opportunity.” Broke Shoola’s voice. “You asked us to spare the accused’s life. We have granted such. Were we wrong to do so?”

Jayce drew a calming breath, forcing his voice to remain steady.

“No,” he said hoarsely. “No, I am grateful for the Council’s mercy.” 

He straightened, fighting for some semblance of composure. “Please, I beg you, forgive my transgression. I only acted out of protectiveness for—” He faltered, then forced the words out. “—for my mate.”

He hated resorting to using such vocabulary, but it wasn’t a lie, not really.

Because Viktor was his. 

Jayce hadn’t seen it clearly at first. Partner, friend, brother… those lines had blurred long ago. He’d done his best to ignore it, to pretend that the ache meant something simpler, but fate had come knocking and showed him what his heart had always known: they were bound—destined. In every life, in every conceivable version of reality.

“He is not your mate,” Shoola corrected. “Not yet. But only you can realise that.” She nodded at one of the officers. “Now, let us proceed.”

An Enforcer stepped forward, seized Viktor by the arm, and hauled him upright. Jayce’s stomach twisted. Viktor was a husk of himself, thinner than usual, his ill-fitting clothes hanging off his shoulders and hip bones too narrow to support them. He sagged in the Enforcer’s grip, silent but compliant, as though the fight had long since gone out of him. 

The heavy chains and leather collar were removed, revealing reddened, abraded skin. Jayce’s throat tightened. An irrational urge stirred in him to press his mouth there, to soothe the wounds with his tongue. It was what any decent alpha would do for their mate.

When the Enforcer stepped back, only the manacles remained. There was no need for them—Viktor couldn’t run, couldn’t fight, and yet, they stayed. A cruel reminder of his place. Then, the Enforcers released their hold on Jayce. They filed away from the room, their boots striking sharply against the marble floor, as they stationed themselves by the great doors, a silent wall barring any hope of escape.

All but one remained in the centre of the room.

The man seized Viktor by the scruff of his shirt and ripped it clean down the back. The fabric split with ease, and only the manacles prevented the useless rags from falling to the floor and leaving him in nothing but his tattered trousers. Viktor made no sound, no sign of protest. He simply bore it all, unflinching. 

With their final command complete, the Enforcer turned and left.

“Mr. Talis… you may proceed.”

Jayce didn’t rush forward as he had imagined he would. The permission he’d fought for hung in the air, heavy and tainted. A part of him, that was rational and decent, recoiled in disgust at the role he had willingly decided to play. Yet beneath that, there was an instinct buried in his marrow that clawed and howled at the fringes of his mind that wanted this.

Demanded this.

He approached Viktor as one might a skittish fawn, each step careful and deliberate. Even as he neared, he didn’t trust himself to touch Viktor, not yet. Instead, he circled slowly, gaze tracing the harsh ridges of Viktor’s body, bones pressing against pale, starved flesh. In silence, he swore that he would see his mate bathed, clothed, and cared for once this ordeal was finally over.

At last, he stopped before him.

“Viktor?”

As Viktor raised his gaze, Jayce’s breath caught.

It felt like an age since they had clung to one another, awaiting obliteration, their star dust to be scattered across the cosmos. Then, Viktor’s eyes had shimmered with the arcane, bright and strange. Now they were amber once more, the same warm hue Jayce had known for over a decade. Even gaunt and hollowed by hardship, those eyes still held something of the man he loved.

Jayce pulled him into a crushing embrace, burying his face in the crook of Viktor’s neck. He smelled like home, familiar and warm, but beneath it lingered the scent of someone barely holding on. Reluctantly, Jayce loosened his arms, just enough to pull back and to see Viktor’s face. He intended to say something, the words forming in his throat, but Viktor broke the fragile silence.  

“Tell me you didn’t agree to this madness.”

“Viktor,” Jayce said softly, pleading, “I had no other choice.”

“There is always a choice,” Viktor bit back.

Jayce had heard those very words before. Long ago, spoken with the same pain, the same conviction. And once again, here they stood, on opposite sides of a chasm carved by impossible choices. But this time, he would not falter. Because there was no world, no timeline, no version of reality in which he and Viktor were not together. They were forever bound, their hearts attuned to the same fierce, stubborn thrum.

“And I chose not to lose you again.”

Jayce rested his forehead against Viktor’s, eyes closed, grounding himself to the only thing that felt real. When he spoke again, it was scarcely more than a whisper, meant for Viktor alone. 

“I realise now… I don’t want to exist in a world without you.” 

He opened his eyes and found Viktor staring back, unshed tears catching on his lashes. 

“I will fight to my dying breath to save you. Over and over again. Only you…”

And then, Jayce kissed him.

It was their first. And though the timing was ruinous, though the world may have been crumbling outside those walls, Jayce wanted—needed—to get this right. His lips, dry and cracked, pressed gently against Viktor’s. His fingers threaded into his hair, soft strands catching against his calloused hands. 

But Viktor didn’t respond. He stood stiff and unyielding, even as Jayce pulled their bodies flush together.

When that failed to earn a response, Jayce dragged his tongue along Viktor’s lower lip, coaxing a reaction, pleading for some flicker of willingness. Some sign of reciprocation. But Viktor remained unmoved.

Anxiety fluttered in Jayce’s chest. It would be easier—kinder—with Viktor’s cooperation. Yet Jayce already knew that if Viktor would not yield, then he would make him. If it meant saving Viktor, he would commit the most heinous sin imaginable.

In a final, desperate act, he bit down. 

Viktor gasped. Jayce seized the opening, plunging his tongue into the heat of Viktor’s mouth. The kiss turned frantic, bruising, ravenous. It carried none of the tenderness Jayce dreamed of, none of the reverence he wished to bathe Viktor in. Viktor pressed weakly against his chest, mumbling something, but Jayce only kissed him harder, held him tighter, until the tension in Viktor’s body slackened just enough for the moment to hold.

When at last Jayce broke away, skin flushed and lips tingling, he looked down. Viktor’s mouth was swollen, glistening, a bruise blooming against his lip. Remorse prickled as he brushed it with his thumb.

Viktor didn’t flinch, but neither did he lean into the touch. 

“Please, Jayce,” Viktor pleaded, “if you care for me as you claim, don’t do this. You owe me that much. Let me go.”

Jayce’s eyes never lifted from his mouth. He heard the plea, but the words were swallowed up by the storm surging inside him.  

“I can’t do that,” he breathed.

He pressed his lips to Viktor’s brow, his jaw, before settling on the delicate curve where neck met shoulder. Where the scent gland pulsed shallowly beneath the skin. He lingered, inhaling like a dying man taking his last rites, then pressed his mouth to it.

One bite. That is all it would take to satisfy the Council’s terms and for all of this to be over. But Jayce knew deep down that it would never be enough to satiate his desires once he tasted Viktor. And as though sensing his thoughts, Viktor tore free from the embrace.  He let him go, though the sudden emptiness was a physical ache that left him cold. Viktor didn’t retreat far. He stood only a few paces apart, eyes hard, a wild mix of defiance and fear.

“Viktor—” Jayce started, voice lowered as if soothing a wounded animal. “—please.”

“No! Don’t patronise me.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

Jayce reached for him, but Viktor recoiled from the touch.

“Then what is it?” Viktor spat. “A mercy? A kindness? Do you think that if you speak gently enough, I will yield? That I will thank you for saving my life?"

“I don’t want your thanks! I just—” Jayce exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “—I just need you alive!”

For a heartbeat, Viktor faltered. His shoulders sagged, the fire in his eyes dimming, not with surrender, but with bone-deep exhaustion.

“Has it never once occurred to you to ask what I want?” he asked quietly. “No. You decide that for me. Like you always do.”

Jayce’s voice cracked. “Damn it, Viktor! What the hell do you expect me to do? Stand by and let them kill you?”

Viktor looked at him, truly looked at him, and when he answered, it was with devastating calm.

“Yes.”

The silence that followed was thick enough to drown in. Jayce stared, searching Viktor’s face, and what he found curdled his stomach: resignation buried beneath the fury. This wasn’t a bluster. Viktor meant it. He would rather die than accept the alternative.

But Jayce couldn’t let him. 

Wouldn’t.

“No,” he said, voice low, shaking. “No. I won’t allow it.”

He surged forward, hands closing around Viktor’s upper arms. Viktor stiffened before lashing out, not with strength but with every ounce of defiance his frail body could summon. A shove. A twist. He bared his teeth, his voice rising to a frantic pitch. 

"Let me go!" Viktor howled. He beat his bound fists against Jayce’s chest. "You have no right—!"

“Enough!” Jayce roared.

It was no growl, no mere sound, but something deeper, not wholly human, but older, resonant, absolute. It carried the weight of law, of command, of nature itself bending to his will.

Gasps echoed through the chamber. It shouldn’t have been possible. Not without a bond. And yet—

Viktor’s breath hitched. His pupils widened. The reaction was instant, body yielding before his mind could resist. His knees buckled, and this time, Jayce was prepared, catching Viktor and easing him to the cold stone floor, cradling him close. Viktor trembled in his arms, fingers twitching, as though trying to rise—fight—Jayce's influence. Betrayal now burned in his eyes, but beneath it shimmered raw terror. 

For a moment, Jayce could only stare.

It had been an accident, born of desperation. But the fact of the matter was, it shouldn’t have been possible… unless. An unbound omega could resist, should resist; the command of an alpha held no sway over them. Only their mate—already tethered by the bond—could be compelled in such a way, their will bent beneath the weight of that ancient authority.

Jayce's thoughts reeled before coming to an inevitable conclusion. Viktor was already bound to him; there was no other conceivable explanation

How, he could not say. Perhaps it had forged when they had shared one mind, one soul, or perhaps it had formed quietly across the many years they shared together. In the end, it did not matter. What mattered was that it existed. Proof they were meant to be. And that, more than anything, struck Jayce to the core. But it did not, however, make what he was about to do any less cruel, but it made it feel inevitable.

“I need a towel and oil,” said Jayce evenly.

“You think we would grant such comforts to a traitor?” came a cold reply. “I suggest you improvise, former Councilor.”

Jayce’s jaw clenched. Of course, the Council would deny him. This was a punishment orchestrated to humiliate, to dehumanise, to make a spectacle of them both. For all Viktor had wrought upon Piltover, this theatre of cruelty was the Council’s answer. And Jayce knew, deep down, that it was as much meant for him as it was for Viktor. Because he had chosen this man over his friends, over his city, over everything. 

The silence pressed in, thick with judgment. The council watched and waited.

Fine. He would do this his way, then.

He shrugged off his coat, folded it, and slid it beneath Viktor’s head. The makeshift pillow offered little protection from the cold marble floor, and was but a fragment of dignity and comfort when none else was offered. 

“They just want a show,” he whispered down to Viktor. “We’ll give them what they want... and then we’ll leave. Together.” 

Jayce knelt between his legs, guiding them apart over the breadth of his thighs. There was no resistance, no fight, only quiet acceptance as Viktor stared blankly at the ceiling. Jayce slipped a hand beneath the waistband of Viktor’s threadbare trousers and closed around his soft, warm cock. He began to stroke him gently, hoping to coax life into him with slow, patient care.

There was no immediate response, no heat of arousal, but Jayce refused to falter. 

His other hand pushed up the ragged hem of Viktor’s ripped shirt, exposing the soft dip of his stomach and the sharp lines of his chest. The sight twisted something deep in Jayce’s chest. It was not just sorrow, but something fierce and starving. He rested his palm over Viktor’s heart, feeling it flutter frantically like a bird against the bars of its cage. The rhythm was grounding, undeniable proof that Viktor was alive.

He bent forward and pressed a kiss to Viktor’s sternum. A faint shudder rippled through him at the contact. Slowly, his mouth trailed upward, leaving a path of reverent kisses across fever-warmed skin.

All the while, his hand moved with purpose. Careful strokes meant as much to comfort as to arouse, as though he could breathe life back into Viktor through touch alone.

When his lips found one of Viktor’s nipples, he lingered, pressing a tender kiss to the small, pebbled bud, and feeling it harden against his lips. Viktor shuddered again, and Jayce almost smiled despite himself. 

There were still so many firsts between them, so much yet to explore. Even now, Jayce couldn’t help but catalogue each reaction, each subtle flicker of response, as if they were conducting a delicate experiment together. Swallowing hard, he steeled himself for what came next. He needed to prepare Viktor, to make this easier, however he could. 

His voice was soft, barely more than a breath as he said, “I don’t expect you to forgive me. I’ll never ask for that. But please… don’t ask me to stand by and do nothing. Let me do this for you.”

He tugged Viktor’s tattered trousers down his hips and pushed his legs back, exposing him to the chill of the air. Viktor gasped, unprepared, but whatever protest he might have made dissolved the moment Jayce lowered his head and pressed his mouth to the soft, vulnerable spot between his legs.

He hadn’t known what to expect, but nothing could have prepared him for this.

The scent hit first—ripe, heady, and undeniably alpha. By all rules, another alpha’s pheromones should have been overpowering, even repellent. Yet Viktor’s had always been different from others. It has always been pleasant, comforting, even alluring. Now, pressed close, the full force of it washed over Jayce, stirring something positively feral and desperate. It was mouthwatering, impossible to resist, pulling at him in ways he hadn't fully understood until this very moment. 

He could not hold back anymore. He needed to taste him. Pressing the flat of his tongue, he drew across the tight furl of Viktor’s hole and groaned. The flavour was rich, intoxicating, and impossibly unique, and unlike the few omegas he’d tasted. Jayce was certain there was no part of him that wouldn’t taste exquisite. 

Desire overcame restraint, indulgence mingling with devotion as he lavished Viktor with his mouth. Saliva quickly slicked the sensitive stretch of his perineum and the tight furl of his hole. It was a poor substitute, but far better than the crude alternative.

Viktor’s bound hands fisted his hair, tugging hard. “Jayce—stop!” he gasped.

Jayce glanced up. Viktor’s face was taut with conflict, caught between shame and reluctant pleasure, pain and desperate want. He slowed, gentling his movements, circling his tongue with care rather than insistence, coaxing instead of demanding. He savoured the way Viktor trembled beneath him, the broken gasps escaping despite every effort to remain composed.

Sliding one hand around, he took Viktor’s soft cock again. He stroked it with patient tenderness, feeling the helpless twitch of his hips.

Then came the sound.

It was a choked, wounded cry that tore from Viktor’s throat, the noise of something cornered and afraid. It struck Jayce deep, piercing through lust, igniting something feral and protective all at once. He pressed closer, his instincts sharpening, his resolve hardening.

He would make Viktor his.

Then, to his quiet delight, Viktor’s cock began to swell beneath his persistent touch, thickening with every deliberate stroke of his hand. It pleased him, thrilled him, for it was proof that Viktor responded to him, even now. It gave him hope, daring him to believe that perhaps not all was lost and ruined. 

He quickened the motion of his hand, twisting his wrist, circling the head with his thumb in slow, calculated arcs. Every movement was precise and methodical. Jayce studied Viktor’s reactions like a live experiment, adjusting his technique to chase new results. And Viktor—Viktor writhed and moaned, his fingernails scratching Jayce’s scalp, almost desperate for more.

Pulling back, Viktor’s taste still lingering on his tongue, Jayce pressed two fingers to his entrance and forced them past the tight ring of muscle. Viktor cried out, his breath catching ragged in his throat. Jayce worked him steadily, pumping and scissoring, urging his body to yield, to accustom itself to the forcible stretch. He used every arsenal of knowledge to prepare the way for something larger. Then he crooked his fingers inward, seeking that sensitive, hidden spot that even alphas bore, and when Viktor’s body seized around him, Jayce knew he had found it.

“Jayce—” Viktor gasped, trembling on the precipice of his undoing.

The sound of his name on Viktor’s lips stirred something unnameable in him. It was dangerous; this need that burned in his blood. To save. To savour. To claim. Different desires, and yet all the same at their core. Driven by instinct, love, and something indivisible.

Jayce leaned closer, releasing a soft pulse of his pheromones. A subconscious offering, a soothing balm that stepped the air between them, coaxing Viktor's trembling body into an uneasy calm. He kept stroking Viktor’s cock, matching the rhythm of his fingers driving deep inside him, and watched in awe as Viktor responded beautifully. His back arched as a helpless keening built in his throat. Jayce could feel it, his alpha influence threading through Viktor, making resistance impossible. 

Then Viktor came.

It was a broken, strangled cry that tore from his throat, an unholy mix of relief and pain, and something perilously close to surrender.

Jayce could not look away.

He watched in quiet fascination as spasms chased themselves across Viktor’s body—stuttering breaths, choked little noises he couldn't suppress, involuntary clenching around Jayce’s still-buried fingers.

He was beautiful.

For a fleeting moment, Jayce longed for another day, one without spectators or chains, without threats or conditions bidding them to act. A day when Viktor would yield not from necessity, but by choice. When he would open himself freely, willingly, in the sanctuary of their bed.

With care, Jayce withdrew his fingers and lowered Viktor’s hips to the ground once more. He stared at the milky discharge coating his hand. Too little, not near enough, but it would have to serve. 

Viktor lay spent on the cold, marble floor. His breath shallow and uneven, eyes half-lidded and distant, as though he had retreated somewhere far within himself.

Jayce swallowed hard before sliding the threadbare trousers away until Viktor lay bare before him—a banquet of vulnerable flesh for the vultures watching.

"Viktor," he said, voice hoarse.

There was no response. Only a vacant stare that perceived nothing—not the eyes on him, not even Jayce’s voice. Fear wound its way around Jayce’s chest in a vice grip, a gnawing terror for the fragile state of Viktor’s mind. He hadn’t broken yet, but Jayce feared it wouldn’t take much more. And still, he could not stop. He had to finish this. The sooner it ended, the sooner Viktor might be taken from this place. The sooner they both could.

Jayce unfastened his trousers and pushed them just low enough to free himself, his cock painfully hard. There was no hesitation, no shame—he didn’t care who was watching. Let them look. Let them know. 

There was no turning back.

He slicked himself with what little release Viktor had given, working it along his aching length. When his gaze lifted, he found Viktor’s eyes upon him. Something in Jayce splintered.

He bent low, his body casting Viktor in shadow. A bitter memory rose to the forefront of his mind: this very hall, not long past, where Viktor—wild with deranged ambition—had puppeted his will through the husk of a mannequin, held Jayce down, and asked that he share in his madness. Now the tables were turned. Now it was Jayce who begged. Jayce, who had lost himself in what was most precious to him.

“I’ll protect you,” he whispered. “They won’t see you. Stay here, beneath me… and I’ll hide you from them.”

Viktor gave no answer. No resistance, no assent. Only his silence. His gaze slid past Jayce’s shoulder, fixed on some far place beyond his reach.

Gently, Jayce drew Viktor’s legs back, folding him open like a delicate flower, and took his rightful place between them. Flesh met flesh, fevered and trembling, Viktor’s backside pressed to his aching cock, promising blessed relief. 

With a final, breathless murmur—a prayer or perhaps an apology—Jayce pressed forward. For all his careful preparation, he met resistance, Viktor’s body small and tight. A gasp broke from Viktor, his eyes flaring wide. His body stiffened, sinew staring, then instinct seized him. Bound hands clawed at Jayce’s shoulders and chest, nails scoring his flesh as he twisted, bucked, and snarled like a savage beast. 

Jayce caught his wrists, pinning them hard above his head.

“I know—” he gritted, thwarting Viktor’s attempt to fight back, “—I know you want to fight. It’s only natural. Your instincts sense the threat of another alpha.”

Viktor continued to fight beneath him, baring his teeth in defiance. But he was too weak, too worn by recent hardship, and Jayce’s size alone made resistance futile. Yet the sight stirred something in Jayce, an admiration for the fight in him. His strong, resilient mate.

“But I also know you want this. I know you want me.” His voice faltered, thick with longing. “I felt it, Viktor—when we were connected. Your love. Your fear. Your grief for all we left unsaid… for the years we lost, for the choices you thought were yours to bear alone.”

Viktor stilled, only just. His breath shuddered in his chest, his eyes searching Jayce’s face as though afraid to trust what he saw there. 

Jayce bent closer, their foreheads pressed together, his voice a broken oath. “And for that reason,” he said, voice cracking, “I know this is right.”

With that conviction searing inside him, he pushed forward, and Viktor gave with a sudden tear and a helpless cry that split the chamber. In an instant, their shared past fractured, falling away, replaced by a fierce, blinding intimacy.

Jayce held himself there, unmoving, scarcely able to breathe beneath the enormity of it. He was inside Viktor. He was in his rightful place. It was a salvation unlike anything he had known, and without realising, it marked the beginning of his ruin. 

At last, he drew back, then pressed forward again, his movement controlled and deliberate. Each motion demanded all his willpower not to chase his pleasure, not to lose himself completely. Yet as he moved, each thrust gaining momentum, carving his place inside, his reason fractured further.

Viktor clenched around him, so impossibly tight, so deliciously responsive. Whether it was conscious will, instinct, or some buried fragment of longing, Jayce did not care. He saw it as a sign. Permission.

He released Viktor’s wrists to grip his hip instead, the other hand curling beneath his thigh to hold him open. His hips snapped harder and sharper, urgency eclipsing restraint. Skin struck skin, breath rasped and ragged, and Viktor’s broken little whimpers spurred him on, fueling the overwhelming need to mate. To claim. 

“You were always mine,” he grunted, punctuating the words with the snap of his hips. “Even before I knew it. Even before you did. But we’ll make this right, you’ll see.”

How many times had he faltered? How many chances squandered? He could have taken Vitkor before, claimed him, bound him, and secured what was his. Instead, he had been blinded by ambition, by ego, and had failed to see what was right before him. The truth maddened Jayce. A snarl ripped from his throat as the thrusts grew more brutal, more punishing.

The last thread of control he possessed burned to cinders, devoured by something ancient and pure. The man of science and honour was gone. In its stead was an alpha driven by the most singular objective: to fill, to mark, to make known before all those who bore witness to their union, that without a shadow of a doubt, Viktor belonged to him.

Jayce pushed Viktor’s legs back further, angling him so he could drive deeper, fuck harder. His knot had begun to swell, thickening the base of his cock, catching deliciously on the tight rim and demanding brute force to breach. The feeling was exquisite and drove him positively feral. 

“Look at you,” he panted. “Taking me so well. So good for me. My perfect mate.”

He fucked, untamed, every motion hungry, every sound broken and unfiltered. The chamber, the onlookers, the chains—he was oblivious to it all. What had been orchestrated as a punishment instead felt like a consecration. Just as fate had designed it. 

His forehead dropped to Viktor’s shoulder, breath scalding against sweat-slick skin. Heat rolled off him like the forge, his muscles trembling not with fatigue but with fevour. He grunted with the effort to push his knot past the rim of flesh, seconds from the final thrust that would marry their bodies as one.

Between ragged breaths, his voice spilled soft, near incoherent words—praise, comfort, worship all slurring together. 

“Viktor,” Jayce breathed, reciting the name like a prayer to the divine. “Viktor… Viktor… Viktor.”

Viktor offered no words, only ragged breaths of his own and the same, broken sounds. His bound hands rose to clutch Jayce’s shoulders, nails raking deep. The sharp sting of them burned across his back, but to Jayce it felt like proof. Like consent. Like reciprocation in its most desperate, wordless form. As if some buried part of Viktor wanted him, too. 

Jayce’s rhythm faltered. His thrusts turned erratic, wild, lost to the madness. Thought evaporated, devoured by the primal drive to claim, to possess. He growled, the sound almost inhuman, hips snapping forward with unrestrained force, lost in the divine clench of Viktor’s body, the scent of him potent and dizzying. 

His knot ached, demanding completion, moments from locking them together. It would be over soon. A moment, maybe less. He hovered on the precipice, muscles coiled, hips stuttering with the strain to make the moment last a second longer.

“Do it,” Viktor breathed, so faint it could have been imagined. 

The words sounded like surrender. Like submission. A challenge. If you’re going to ruin me, ruin me properly.

“Do it,” Viktor repeated. 

Jayce’s pupils contracted to pinpricks, and the world bled white at the edges.

He lunged.

His teeth sank into Viktor’s shoulder. Flesh split beneath the force of the bite, and Viktor screamed, the sound tearing from his throat as teeth tore through skin and into the gland beneath. He arched against Jayce, another climax seizing his body even though he writhed in pain. With a final, burdening thrust, Jayce’s knot pushed inside and took root. He spilled into Viktor’s womb, their joining sealed in fire and ruin, every pulse of his release branding every beat of his hammering heart.

They stilled at last.

Branded. Bonded.

Time lost all measure. Seconds followed, minutes—perhaps more—slipping by in a euphoric haze until eventually, clarity crept back into the recesses of Jayce’s mind. slowly evaporating the alpha heat. 

The first thing he registered was the taste of blood. Viktor’s blood, but it lacked the sharp bite of iron. It was milder, sweeter, like nectar. That was when he realised his jaw was still locked. Teeth still deep in Viktor’s shoulder, clenched so tightly the muscles of his jaw ached. Some part of him—old, buried, unthinking—had refused to let go, as if release would undo everything.

He dragged a breath into his lungs. Willed his body to relax and his mouth to open. His jaw throbbed as he drew back, and when his teeth finally unhooked from flesh, it was with a wet, sickeing pull that made his stomach twist.

He lingered there, suspended in the hush aftermath, before lowering his head to the broken flesh. Not to reclaim, but to soothe. He moved gently, tongue laving over the deep lacerations in a wordless apology, a last bespoke act of their coupling. Minutes bled away as he tended to the wound, his devotion written in every drag of his tongue.

Viktor.

His mate. 

His perfect omega.

Jayce nuzzled along Viktor’s jaw and inhaled deeply. His scent had changed. The sharp, astringent aroma of grief and despair had softened, tempered by something faintly sweeter. He hadn’t expected a discernible shift after only one mating, yet it resonated through him, a low pleasure thrumming in his chest.

“Viktor… we’re going to be okay,” he whispered.

There wasn’t an exact science on how long a couple remained knotted—it could last minutes or stretch for hours, depending on countless factors. Whether it was instinct or some buried awareness of their peril, Jayce felt his knot already beginning to deflate. A flicker of disappointment stirred in him, but he forced it aside. His needs were second to Viktor’s, but he assured himself that there would be other times. When they mated again, he would make certain they remained bound for hours, leaving no doubt of his claim. 

When at last he was able to withdraw, he did so quickly, tucking himself away. He removed his jacket from beneath Viktor’s head, bundled him within the cloth to preserve what little dignity remained, and gathered him into his arms. 

He stood and then wordlessly made for the chamber doors.

“Mr. Talis! You have not been dismissed from this proceeding!” someone dared to protest. “We have not acknowledged the validity of your claim!”

Jayce stopped, turning only so far to spear the council with a cold, narrow glare.

“I have fulfilled your conditions,” he said, his tone authoritative and absolute. “Viktor is mine.” 

A ripple of unease passed through the chamber. None dared meet his eye, oh, but part of him so wished someone would. He itched for a fight, for more blood, the alpha fever burning within him still, but he reigned in control. Reminded of the delicate possession in his arms.

“If anyone so much as approaches him again, I will treat it as a threat against my mate and answer in kind."

No voice rose in opposition against him. The Council of Piltover conceded wordlessly and unanimously that its sentence had been fulfilled. 

Jayce shifted Viktor in his arms and left without looking back. He would take him home, keep him safe, and mate with him as many times as necessary to ensure Viktor’s transformation was complete. Their bond had taken root long ago, but now it would strengthen. Some part of Jayce knew it had always been there, that the moment they met, something irrevocable had taken root between them. 

When Viktor’s strength returned, they would leave Piltover. Jayce knew that Viktor would not be safe so long as he remained, and he was not prepared to gamble with his life (again). So they would start their lives anew as a mated pair and find another home together, wherever that might be. Happiness would not come easily, perhaps not all at once, but Jayce was sure it would come. Because Viktor needed him as much as Jayce needed Viktor. Because separation was never an option for them—never had been.

That certainty steadied him as he carried Viktor down the once-grand halls, past gilded marble and silent judgment, into the promise of something greater than Piltover could ever offer them. 

The end.